My roommate brought back an old music box, saying she had picked it up at a flea market.

I told her not to keep it.

It was too old.

Who knew where it had come from or how many hands it had passed through.

But the moment the music box was opened, and the melody began to play, a chill ran down my spine.

The next day, a girl from the dorm next door jumped off the building.

A week later, a child from a nearby orphanage died the same way.

When the police came to investigate, my roommate quietly hid the music box.

It wasn’t until I found myself standing on the rooftop that I realized none of this was an accident.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day she brought the music box home.

This time, I was going to make sure she listened to it.

The moment before I hit the concrete, I saw Fleur Lane standing at the edge of the rooftop.

She was holding that damn music box, a smile curled on her lips.

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying on my dorm bed. Sunlight stabbed through the window, and the familiar clatter of typing filled my ears.

“You’re awake?” Fleur’s voice came from across the room. “Perfect timing, I just picked up something good.”

I shot upright, heart pounding, fingers clenched tight in the bedsheet.

I was back. Back to the day she brought the music box.

Fleur pulled a faded wooden box from her bag, its red paint chipped, the brass lock rusted.

She wound it eagerly, and a familiar melody flowed through the dorm.

“Für Elise.” But something about the tune was off.

In my last life, it was this warped melody that killed me.

“Where did you get it?” My voice came out tight.

“Flea market,” she said casually, fiddling with the box. “The seller said it’s an old piece. I had been sitting around for years, nobody wanted it.”

I stared at the box. Last time, I had believed her, right up until the first girl jumped.

This time was different.

“Stop playing it.” I pressed a hand over the lid. “It sounds… unsettling.”

Fleur raised a brow. “Since when are you this superstitious?”

I didn’t answer. My gaze drifted to the bottom of the box, where there was a nearly invisible crack.

Last time, when the police collected evidence, they had pried it open from there and found a miniature recording device inside.

“Let me see.” I feigned curiosity and took it, my fingers brushing the cold metal spring.

The box was heavier than it looked.

Fleur suddenly reached out to snatch it back. “Careful, that’s an antique.”

Her nails scraped across the back of my hand, leaving a red mark.

Something wasn’t right.

No normal person would be this tense over a broken music box.

That night, while Fleur was in the shower, I pried open the base.

There was something hidden behind the gear assembly.

A button-sized electronic component, flickering with a faint red light.

“What are you looking for?”

Fleur’s voice came from behind, laced with amusement.

I snapped the lid shut.

She stood at the bathroom door, water dripping from her hair, her eyes dark in a way that felt wrong.

“Just curious about the mechanism.” I set the music box back on her desk. “It’s pretty intricate.”

Fleur said nothing, only smiled as she wiped her hair dry.

That smile dragged me back to my last life—when she had stood on the rooftop, looking at me the same way.

The next day, Tina Watson from the room next door came over to borrow notes.

“This music box is beautiful.” She reached out to touch it. “Can you play it for me?”

“No!” The word slipped out before I could stop it.

Tina flinched.

Fleur only smiled. “Of course.”

She wound the spring, and that eerie melody filled the room again.

Tina’s gaze slowly turned unfocused.

I grabbed a cup of water and splashed it across her face.

The music cut off instantly.

“What are you doing?” Fleur snapped.

Tina blinked, dazed, clearly having no idea what had just happened.

“She has low blood sugar.” I pressed down hard on the music box. “I’ve seen this before.”

Fleur stared at me for a long moment, then suddenly smiled. “You’ve been on edge lately.”

She took the music box back, gently running her fingers over the lid. “It’s just a music box.”

But I knew it wasn’t.

In my last life, Tina was the first to jump.

And now, the countdown had started again.

After Tina left, the dorm fell into an unsettling silence.

Fleur placed the music box back on the top shelf of the bookcase, then turned and smiled at me. “You really overreacted today.”

I forced my shoulders to relax and gave an awkward smile. “Guess I’ve been watching too many horror movies lately. That tune just feels… off.”

“Didn’t expect you to be this timid.” Fleur let out a soft scoff and pulled a laptop from her drawer.

“Midterms for psychology are next week. How’s your revision going?”

“Not bad.” I cast a casual glance at the music box on the shelf.

“But that music box really is something special. Mind if I take another look?”

Fleur’s fingers paused on the keyboard. “Since when are you so interested?”

“I just think the tone is unique.” I put on a curious expression. “It sounds like an old gramophone. You don’t really hear that anymore.”

She studied me for a few seconds, then suddenly smiled. “Sure. Go ahead.”

She reached up, handed me the music box, her fingertips brushing the back of my hand.

It felt cold, like snake skin.

“Thanks.” I took it with a feigned brightness and deliberately wound it in front of her.

That warped “Für Elise” filled the room again.

This time, I listened carefully to every note. Beneath the melody, there was a faint distortion, almost like someone whispering from far away.

“It sounds beautiful,” I said, silently counting the beats in my head.

In my last life, every person who jumped had listened to the full melody three times.

Fleur leaned back in her chair, watching my reaction, her eyes narrowing slightly behind her glasses. “If you like it, you can listen a few more times.”

“Sure.”

I pretended not to notice the probing look in her eyes. “Oh right, aren’t we going to Sunshine Orphanage tomorrow for volunteer work? Maybe we could bring this along for the kids to play with?”

Her expression froze instantly.

“No.” Her voice turned sharp. “It’s an antique. Kids are clumsy…”

“I’m kidding.” I cut her off with a laugh. “Something this valuable? I wouldn’t let kids anywhere near it.”

I placed the music box by my bedside, deliberately positioning it to face Fleur’s bed.

Late that night, after lights out, I pretended to be asleep, my eyes barely open as I watched the room.

At 2:17 a.m., Fleur quietly slipped out of bed.

In the moonlight, I saw her standing beside me, reaching out for the music box.

I suddenly rolled over, mumbling as if in a dream, “Don’t jump… don’t jump…”

Fleur’s hand froze midair.

“Having a nightmare?” she asked softly.

I didn’t respond, pretending to stay asleep.

After a long while, I heard her return to her bed. But for the rest of the night, she made no sound at all.

The next morning, I deliberately took a photo of the music box in front of her.

“Posting it?” she asked, holding a cup of water.

“Yeah. I have to show off something this unique.” I looked down and typed: “A treasure my roommate picked up. The more I listen, the more addictive it gets.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips. “You’ve got a good eye.”

On the way to the orphanage, I made sure the music box sat in the most visible spot in my bag.

Fleur glanced at my bag three times along the way.

“Since we’re teaching the kids songs today, should we use this as accompaniment?” I asked, feigning innocence.

“No!” Fleur grabbed my wrist, her grip shockingly tight. “This kind of music isn’t suitable for children.”

I widened my eyes in mock surprise. “Why not? It’s just ‘Für Elise,’ isn’t it?”

She released me, adjusting her glasses. “A distorted version can affect children’s pitch perception. I study psychology; I know better than you.”

“Oh.” I nodded as if enlightened, noticing the bandage on her right ring finger had shifted to a different spot.

At the entrance of Sunshine Orphanage, the children were already lined up waiting for us.

I crouched down and hugged the first little girl who ran toward me. Her name was Raine—the second one who had died in my last life.

“Miss Shaw, what’s in your bag?” Raine pointed curiously at my backpack.

Fleur immediately stepped in front of me. “It’s her personal belongings. You can’t touch it, okay?”

Her tone was gentle, but her eyes were cold as ice.

I smiled and ruffled Raine’s hair. “I’ll bring it for you next time, okay?”

“Okay!” The little girl ran off happily.

Fleur turned to look at me, a polite smile stretched across her face. “You seem especially fond of the kids here.”

“Yeah.” I met her gaze. “Especially Raine. She reminds me of my little sister.”

That part was true.

In my last life, after Raine died, the police found my photo under her pillow. Fleur had put it there.

On the way back to school, I deliberately slowed my pace.

“You’ve been acting strange lately,” Fleur said suddenly.

“Have I?” I gave the music box a small shake in my hand. “Maybe I just found myself a new toy.”

She stared at me for a long moment, then suddenly reached out. “Give it back.”

“Why?” I tightened my grip on the music box. “Didn’t you say I could play with it?”

“I changed my mind.” Her voice turned sharp, edged with something dangerous. “It’s mine.”

I took a step back, putting on a hurt expression. “That’s a bit stingy, don’t you think?”

Fleur’s gaze went cold—unfamiliar, almost chilling. “Some things, you’d be better off not getting involved in.”

Right then, my phone rang.

It was the orphanage director, Alex Warren.

“Miss Shaw, could you come back right away? Raine just collapsed. She keeps muttering about a ‘music box’…”

I looked up at Fleur.

The color drained from her face in an instant.

The piercing wail of an ambulance siren tore through the sky.

I stood at the orphanage entrance, watching as the paramedics lifted Raine, her body still convulsing, onto the stretcher.

The little girl’s pale lips kept moving, as if repeating something.

I leaned in to listen, and the blood in my veins turned to ice.

“The box is singing… the box is singing…”

Fleur appeared behind me. “Give me the music box.”

Her voice was soft but carried a pressure that left no room for refusal.

I turned around and saw her right hand hidden in her pocket, a faint glint of metal catching the light.

It was a folding knife.

“Why should I?” I deliberately raised my voice, drawing the attention of the staff nearby. “It’s mine.”

A shadow passed through Fleur’s eyes.

She had no choice but to withdraw her hand. “You’ve been acting strange lately.”

“Have I?” I gave the music box a small shake. “Maybe it’s just because the sound is so unique.”

Right in front of her, I flipped the lid open. The distorted “Für Elise” began to play again.

Fleur’s eyes widened sharply, her right hand instinctively moving toward the knife in her pocket.

But this time, nothing happened.

After Raine was sent to the hospital, I volunteered to go along.

Fleur tried to stop me, but one sentence from Alex froze her in place. “Miss Shaw understands the children best. She’s the most suitable one to go.”

On the way to the hospital, I secretly checked the music box.

The spring was loose.

That wasn’t right. I clearly remembered winding it three full turns that morning.

What caught my eye was a new scratch on the underside, as if it had been pried open.

“Miss Shaw, may I take a look at that music box?”

Alex suddenly lowered his voice.

I handed it over.

The moment his fingers touched the box, they began to tremble violently. “Twenty years ago… there was a music box just like this at the orphanage…”

“And then?” I held my breath.

“A girl named Yuki…” His voice caught. “After listening to it, she…”

The emergency room doors suddenly swung open.

A doctor stepped out. “The child is stable for now, but her EEG shows abnormalities, as if…”

My phone vibrated.

A message from an unknown number: “Put the box back where it belongs. Otherwise, the director is next.”

I jerked my head up.

Through the hospital window, I saw Fleur standing across the street, smiling at me.

She lifted her phone slightly.

On the screen, a second message was being typed.

“What’s wrong?” Alex asked, concern in his voice.

“Nothing.” I slipped the music box back into my bag. “Mr. Warren, could I take a look at the records from twenty years ago?”

His expression shifted, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes. “Why the sudden interest?”

“I…”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Fleur crossing the street toward the hospital. I grasped for an excuse. “I want to write a paper on children’s mental health.”

In the records room, dust drifted through the sunlight.

Alex pulled out a yellowed folder labeled “2001 Incident Report.”

I opened it and my breathing stopped.

In the black-and-white photo, a young girl lay on the orphanage playground, her body twisted at an unnatural angle.

The headline read: “Ten-Year-Old Girl Dies in Mysterious Fall, Claimed ‘The Music Box Was Speaking’ Before Death.”

The date on the report was September 18, 2001.

Exactly twenty years had passed since that day.

“This girl was named Yuki Lane,” Alex said quietly. “She was such a well-behaved child…”

My eyes locked onto the last line of the report: “Case Officer: Michael Lane.”

He was Fleur’s father.

“This music box…”

Alex pointed to a blurry object in the corner of the photo. “It looks very similar to yours.”

Behind me, the sharp crash of a coffee cup shattering echoed through the room.

Fleur stood at the doorway, her face pale as paper.

“We should head back to school,” she said, her voice unnervingly calm.

As we stepped out of the orphanage, Fleur suddenly grabbed my wrist.

“Give me the box.”

Her nails dug into my skin, her eyes wild and unsteady.

“Why?” I met her gaze. “Is it that important to you?”

Fleur’s breathing grew uneven. “You don’t understand… it chooses people…”

Right then, the music box in my bag started playing on its own.

The eerie melody echoed through the empty parking lot.

Fleur’s expression twisted into panic. “That’s impossible… I already…”

She didn’t finish. A scream suddenly rang out from the second floor of the hospital.

Raine had woken up at some point. She was climbing onto the windowsill, her eyes hollow, repeating, “The box is singing… the box is singing…”

Fleur let out a shriek that didn’t sound human and bolted toward the hospital.

I stayed where I was, staring at the music box as it played by itself.

And then, something clicked into place.

This box had never truly been under Fleur’s control.